Brotherly Responsibilites
by WhisperThroughTheTrees
Summary: Sherlock Aged 5 years needs his father and Mycroft Aged 15 does all he can to ensure Sherlock has a good role model to look up to.


"Mycroft?"

The elder Holmes boy stirred, opening one eye to look at his younger brother who was currently standing in the doorway, dragging his stuffed bear along the floor. "I'm trying to sleep, Sherlock." He mumbled, closing his eyes and drawing the blankets around him tighter.

"But I can't sleep!" The small boy protested, pouting his lip and taking a step across the threshold into Mycroft's immaculate bedroom.

"Fine," Mycroft yawned, shifting over and holding the blanket up. "You can sleep with me. But just for tonight." Sherlock practically jumped into the bed, curling up against his older brother and hugging his plushie to his chest. Mycroft put a comforting arm around him and laid his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes and attempting to drift off again.  
"Mycroft?" Sherlock said quietly, after a few moments of silence.

"Hm?"

"Does daddy love us?"

Mycroft opened his eyes, looking down at the boy in his arms. "Yes, of course. Why would you ask that?" Sherlock shrugged, trying to hide the small tears trickling out of his eyes.

"He's never home." Sherlock muttered, attempting (unsuccessfully) to keep his tone steady so his brother wouldn't know he was crying. "I don't think he loves us." Mycroft hugged Sherlock tighter against his chest.

"He loves us," He said uncertainly. "Either way, mummy loves us. I love you. Do you love me?" Mycroft tried after a moment, reaching up to run his fingers through his brother's soft, dark curls.

"Yeah." Sherlock nodded slowly. "You're my best friend." He paused for a moment, squeezing his bear tightly. "You're my only friend." Mycroft felt his heart ache for Sherlock.

"You're my best friend, too, Sherlock. You always will be, no matter what." He said softly. He held his brother in his arms, petting his hair gently and humming to him until his breath became steady and Mycroft was sure he was asleep. He let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been suppressing and rolled over to look up at the ceiling. It really wasn't fair, what their father was doing. Everybody knew he was having an affair- even Sherlock. In fact, Sherlock had been the one to deduce it at Sunday dinner three weeks ago. But the thing that made Mycroft angry- the thing that made his blood absolutely _boil-_ was the fact that his father didn't even try to hide it. He would come home as late as 3am, making as much noise as he pleased. He would buy expensive jewelry for his mistresses with his credit cards and wouldn't even bother to hide them from their mother. Mycroft didn't want Sherlock to idolize his father's ways (the boy was only 5 for Christ's sake!) so he tried to be the best role model he could be. Sometimes Sherlock would get cross with him, telling him "You aren't my father!" but in a way, he was. Not biologically, of course, but as far as anyone was concerned, Mycroft Holmes was the example his younger brother had to go by. He felt it was his duty as a good brother to ensure Sherlock's safety and happiness- especially if his father was not going to. Eventually, Mycroft's thoughts quieted and he drifted asleep.

The next morning, Mycroft woke up first, just as the first rays of sunlight were filtering through the curtains. Carefully and quietly (as not to disturb Sherlock), he climbed out of bed and out of the room. _Pancakes,_ he thought, creeping down the hallway. _That'll cheer Sherlock up and make him forget about last night. _He got the supplies out of the enormous pantry, trying very hard to resist the temptation of snagging one of the pancakes for himself. Forty minutes later, the kitchen was a mess and Mycroft was padding down the hallway to his bedroom, a breakfast tray in his hands. "Sherlock," he said quietly, stepping into the room. "Wake up, I've made you breakfast." The small lump under the blankets stirred for a few moments before sitting up and looking around, his eyes finally coming to rest on the steaming plate of pancakes in the middle of the tray.

"Mmm," he said sleepily. Mycroft smiled at him as he made his way over to the bed, taking a seat next to his brother and setting the tray down. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Mycroft dismissed his thanks with a wave of his hand, looking down to get a better look at the child. His large blue eyes were bleary with sleep and his dark curls were wild matted to one side of his head. "What would you like to do today, huh? We could go out on the grounds or play pirates in the treehouse?" he asked.

"Is mummy going to be gone today, too?" Sherlock asked through a mouthful of pancakes.

"Yes, however, she'll be home in time for supper."

"Can we play pirates?"

"Sure, if you'd like."

"And you have to be the bad pirate and I'll be the good pirate. My ship gets to be in the treehouse because I called it and yours can be on the ground. Oh! And you can use my eyepatch because it makes my face itchy and it's hard to see sometimes because it's big." Sherlock rambled happily, finishing his breakfast. Mycroft smiled down at his brother, who was now explaining why pirates aren't as bad as everyone thinks. He nodded, raising his eyebrows and trying to suppress a laugh at Sherlock's enthusiasm. "Oh, and guess what! Whenever I'm older and big enough to live all by myself, I'm going to buy a ship and live on it and sail all around the world! You can be my first mate!" Sherlock said, eyes sparkling as they looked up at Mycroft.

"I'd be honored." He laughed. Anything to keep his little brother safe from harm.


End file.
